Chapter 2: How Obedience Became My Cage

Back then, Mason Carter came to give a talk at my university, and I was the one who had to host him. Of course.

It was one of those big auditorium events—everyone dressed up, trying to impress. My hands were sweating so bad I almost dropped the mic checking it for the third time.

He stood on stage, looking every bit the big shot—confident, smooth. The second I saw him, my heart went nuts. Love at first sight? Maybe.

He owned the room, not just with his words but the way he moved—casual, in control, like he knew exactly what everyone wanted to hear. I was hooked before he even finished his first joke. Pathetic, right?

Afterward, the dean, who loved a good show, had me join the dinner since I was student council president.

I ended up at the end of the table, nerves jangling, trying to act like I belonged. My tie felt like a noose, my palms slick with sweat. God, I was such a kid.

Trying to give me a leg up, the dean sang my praises in front of Mason.

“Chris is smart, well-behaved, and capable. Please look after him.”

I forced a smile, cheeks burning. I could feel Mason’s eyes on me, weighing me up. Like he was already deciding what role I’d play.

The dean nudged me to toast him, so I grabbed the whiskey. "Sir, a toast to you."

My voice only shook a little, but I could hear it. I wanted to look cool, not like some freshman.

“Everyone else calls me Mr. Carter, but you call me sir. That’s different.”

He sat at the head of the table, giving me a look—something unreadable in his eyes.

There was something almost playful in his eyes, like he was testing me. I held his gaze, trying not to blink or look away first. My heart was pounding.

Afraid I’d look like a suck-up, I shut up and knocked back the whole glass in one go.

The whiskey burned like hell going down, making me cough. I tried to play it off, but Mason noticed. Of course he did.

The burn hit all the way to my stomach, my face went red as a tomato. Mason slid a glass of milk across the table, his fingers brushing mine for a second. “Easy, kid. Don’t want you passing out on your first big night.”

“Kids should stick to milk.”

He gave me a half-smile, like he was letting me in on some secret. Everyone else cracked up, but I just nodded, weirdly flattered.

I took the milk, gulped it down, feeling a little less like I was going to die.

The cool sweetness soothed my throat. I managed a shaky smile. For a second, it felt like it was just us in the room.

I licked the milk off my lips, trying to play it cool. “Thank you, sir.”

I said it quietly, almost hoping he wouldn’t hear. But he did—and his eyes stayed on me a beat too long.

Mason raised an eyebrow, giving me a look that made my stomach flip. “You really are obedient.”

His voice was low, teasing, almost like he was tasting the word. My face went even redder, but I couldn’t tear my eyes away.

Under that stare, I felt tiny. But special, too. Like maybe I mattered.

I stared at my hands, wishing I could disappear. But honestly, part of me liked it—the way he made me feel small and important at the same time.

It was that one line—"obedient"—that got me. I thought that’s what he wanted, so I tried my best to play that part.

I started second-guessing everything—was I being good enough? Quiet enough? Easy enough? I just wanted to be what he wanted, even if it meant losing a little more of myself every day.

Even when things got rough in bed, I’d just whimper a little, never daring to complain. If anything, it made him go even harder, trying out every new thing he could think of with me.

I thought if I just held on, if I was good enough, he’d love me back the way I loved him. But he didn’t. He just kept taking, and I just kept giving.

Only when I finally broke and started crying would he kiss my tears and let me go.

Those nights left me raw. But I clung to the softness in his touch, the way he’d whisper, “It’s okay, I’ve got you.” Even if it never lasted.

“Cry louder, I like hearing it.”

He’d say it like it was a compliment, and I’d feel this twisted kind of pride. God, it’s embarrassing to admit now.

I bent over backward for him, no self-respect, just a supporting role for the real couple’s happy ending.

Looking back, I wonder—how much of me was real, and how much was just me trying to fit his story? I was always the sidekick. Never the hero.

“Now I want to be myself again.”

The words felt strange in my mouth, like I was trying on new shoes. But damn, they felt good. Like freedom.

“If I hadn’t tried so hard to be the good boy, I wouldn’t have spent years letting him call all the shots.”

I was done playing that role. If I was gonna be miserable, at least it’d be on my own terms.

“And his skills are terrible, but I’d fake it just to spare his ego.”

I snorted, half-laughing, half-crying. It felt weirdly good to say it out loud—even if it was just to Jamie and a bunch of randoms online.

“I’m done pretending!”

I raised my glass and toasted myself. No more lies. No more faking it. Not for anyone.

Jamie looked at me, eyes soft. “But you look totally heartbroken right now.”

He said it so gently, like he was afraid I’d shatter if he pushed too hard.

I choked up. “This whiskey’s too strong—it’s burning me up.”

I wiped my eyes, blaming the booze. But Jamie just gave me that look—the one that said, yeah right.

Jamie shook his head. “Then go all out.”

He grabbed the nearest model, nudged him toward me. “Tonight’s your night, man. Let loose.”

He pushed the abs guy into my arms, and another model leaned in like he was about to kiss me.

I hesitated for a split second, then let myself get swept up in the chaos. If I was gonna crash, might as well do it in style.

Click. Jamie snapped a photo and posted it to my Instagram before I could even blink.

The flash caught me off guard, and for a second, I almost snatched the phone away. But I let it go. Let the world see. Maybe Mason would see it, too.

The next second, I saw Mason had liked and commented on my post.

[👍]

Twice. In a row.

A thumbs-up? Seriously!

I stared at the screen, waiting for… something. But that was it—just a dumb emoji. He couldn’t even be bothered to say anything real.

My heart went ice cold, just like that.

It was like someone dumped a bucket of ice water down my back. That’s all I got after three years?

So, he really didn’t care. Didn’t care about the breakup. Didn’t care that I was with other guys. I thought he’d at least call and ask what the hell I was doing. But now that his “one true love” was back, he couldn’t wait for me to disappear.

I’d always thought, deep down, he’d come after me. Pretend to be jealous, at least. But I guess I was wrong. So wrong.

[Haha, the side character looks like such a clown when he’s sad.]

[They’re the official couple—no matter what you do, they won’t care.]

The comments just kept coming, meaner and sharper. I wanted to hurl my phone across the room.

Yeah, what the hell am I even doing?

I stared up at the ceiling, the club’s bass pounding in my ears. I felt ridiculous—like I’d been caught playing dress-up in someone else’s life.

All that bravado—wasn’t I still hoping he’d react?

I realized I’d been performing for an audience of one, and he hadn’t even bothered to clap.

But I was never in his heart. Nothing I did could make him care.

The truth hit hard, but it was freeing, in a twisted way. I could finally stop trying.

“Damn, is Mason even human? You’re doing all this and he just likes your post!”

Jamie’s voice was incredulous, with a hint of anger for me. For once, it felt good to have someone on my side.

“If that’s how it is, Chris, go out and get with as many guys as you want tonight!”

He grinned, trying to lift the mood. “Make him regret ever letting you go.”

I forced a laugh and stood up. “Forget it, let’s just go home.”

Suddenly, I was just… done. All the fight drained out of me. I just wanted somewhere quiet—somewhere Mason couldn’t touch me anymore.

He doesn’t care. No matter what I do, it’s pointless. I’m not gonna throw myself away over him. Not tonight.

I grabbed my jacket and left the models behind. Tonight, I was done being anyone’s entertainment.

And wouldn’t you know it—just as we left the club, we ran right into Mason and Eli coming out together.

Of course. Chicago’s a big city, but not big enough to keep me from running into my ex and his new prize. The universe really knows how to twist the knife.

Mason looked a little drunk, leaning on Eli for support. When he saw me, he frowned, stepped forward—blocking Eli from view, like he was shielding him from me.

Jamie wrapped his arms around me, putting on his best cutesy voice. “Baby, your place or mine?”

That’s Jamie for you—always ready to play along, no matter how messy things get.

He winked at me, squeezed my side. I leaned into him, grateful for the cover.

Mason’s cold gaze swept over me, then he turned and got in the car with Eli.

He didn’t even pause. Just walked away like I was a stranger. Three years—gone in a blink.

Not even pretending anymore. Three years, and this is what I get. Nothing.

I watched the taillights disappear, fists jammed in my pockets. I told myself I wouldn’t cry, but it was a close call.